


Mortal

by ShezzasCompanion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hemorrhagic stroke, Injury Recovery, Medical Angst, Medical Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-03 11:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13340745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShezzasCompanion/pseuds/ShezzasCompanion
Summary: Sherlock is forced to face the fact that despite what he thinks about Mycroft, his brother is just mortal





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s Mycroft.” Anthea’s voice sounds choked over the phone as Sherlock sits up in bed. It’s early in the morning, and from the way his brother’s assistant sounds, nothing good can come from this phone call, and as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, her tone worries him.

 

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” There is silence for a moment and he can hear Anthea talking to someone else in the background, but he can’t exactly hear what is being said, and it only worries him more.

 

“Anthea! What’s wrong? What happened to Mycroft?!” Sherlock shouts into the phone.

 

Anthea is quiet again, and Sherlock can hear her inhale before she speaks“He’s on his way to the hospital…he… we think he had a stroke.”

 

“Text me the address.” Is all he manages to say, it’s all he can force from his lips before he hangs up. 

 

Sherlock sit there frozen, his body feels numb, as if pins and needles have overtaken his limbs, while his mind feels as if its submerged in water because everything seems slow and out of focus. 

 

Its  an eternity before his phone pings with the hospitals information and Sherlock forces himself to move, he has to get there, to see Mycroft, to see for himself if his brother actually had a stroke or if it was something else, something minor. The brunette tries to dress quickly in the first suit he pulls from his wardrobe, but his trembling fingers refuse to comply. 

 

His mind plays over Anthea’s words again and again and he can only think of the worst: that his brother is already dead or he will be when he arrives. Instead he makes himself focus on getting dressed and getting out the door. 

 

Sherlock is out on the curb waiting for a cab before he considers calling Molly or Greg or John to go with him or to at least meet him there, but he worries they would take too long and he figures he’s already wasted enough time trying to button his shirt. Instead, he slips his phone into his pocket and decides to go alone. 

 

It feels like it takes eons for the cab to pull up to the front of the hospital and Anthea is waiting for him in the lobby when he finally makes it inside. She looks tired and frazzled and her normally present blackberry is nowhere insight. 

 

“How is he? What do you know?” Sherlock questions as soon as she looks up at him

 

“The emergency staff on hand send him up for an MRI...from their initial examination, they did determine he had a stroke, but they were uncertain what type of stroke or where it occurred in his brain” she explained.

“How did he get here?”

 

“I called an ambulance” Anthea explained. “I found him on the floor of his study, unconscious. I managed to wake him, but he was confused and unable to move. I thought it would be best to call for an ambulance in case he had hit his head and by the time they arrived half of his face seemed to droop and they had come to the conclusion he had a stroke…”

 

Sherlock nodded but before he could say anything, the door leading to the emergency room swung open as a doctor stepped out into the waiting room.

 

“Family for Mr. Holmes?”

 

“That would be me.” Sherlock stated as he turned his attention away from Anthea. His heart was beating painfully out of his chest.”I’m his brother.”

 

“You’re brother is lucky to be alive, Mr. Holmes. Earlier this evening, he suffered from a stroke and from the CT scan we performed on him, it’s been determined he suffered from a hemorrhagic stroke, an intracerebral hemorrhage to be exact. This means that one of the blood vessels in his brain burst, causing blood to leak into the brain surrounding the ruptured vessel. This bleeding causes pressure on the brain and leads to the damage and possible death of brain cells.” The doctor explained “Right now we are giving him medication to lower his blood pressure and lower the pressure that is on his brain.”

 

Sherlock slowly sank down into the chair he stood before. It felt as if the world had dropped out from under his feet. 

 

“Do you know what caused it?”

 

“From what we learned from his assistant, your brother has a high stress job. The stress from his job most likely caused him to develop hypertension, which was something he was unaware of, or if he was, he was not taking anything for it. The high stress and uncontrolled high blood pressure weakened the blood vessels in his brain, causing the stroke.”

 

“When can I see him?” 

 

“A nurse will come for you in a few moments after we make sure he’s stable.”

 

Sherlock could only nod as the doctor turned away. His throat burned and his eyes clouded with tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks. Mycroft always appeared to be stronger than anyone he knew, impervious to illness and disease. He always appeared to be indestructible and invincible to Sherlock, but now it was obvious, Mycroft was human like the rest of the world, he could get sick, he could get injured, and he was going to die one way, he was going to die and leave him alone.

A whimper escaped Sherlock’s lips at the thought as the tears that threatened to spill began to cascade down his face and drip onto his clothes. He couldn’t stand the thought of Mycroft dying, but it was something he was going to have to confront sooner rather than later. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a half an hour before a nurse sends for Sherlock.

“Why don’t you go home?” He tells anthea as he stands. “There’s not much else you can do. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“What about your parents?”

“I’ll call them after I know more.” He turns away from his brothers assistant and heads towards the nurse whose propping the door open. She’s quiet as she leads him down the hall to a room just off the right to the nurses station. From outward appearance it looks like most intensive care rooms Sherlock’s familiar with: the walls facing the nurses are made of glass for closer monitoring, though The privacy curtains are drawn at the moment. Perhaps it’s because of Mycroft’s government status or because he can hear the doctor inside talking to what he suspects is another nurse.

“He’ll be transferred upstairs once we get word the ICU is ready for him.” The nurse tells him as she leaves him to walk into the room alone.

The doctor from earlier is standing at the foot of Mycrofts bed when Sherlock enters, he’s muttering to himself as he looks over the chart in his hand, but the looks up when Sherlock enters. Though, Sherlock doesn’t see him, not at first. Instead he’s focused on not falling to his knees as he takes in the ventilator that is breathing for his brother.

He has so many questions he wants to ask, but none of them come out. Instead Sherlock forces himself to turn his attention to the doctor.

“I understand that this is quite a shock to you, Mr Holmes, but this is a frequent treatment for the type of stroke your brother has suffered from.” He explained.

“I-I don’t understand.” The words were foreign to Sherlock, but he could not get his mind to engage, to produce a reason why this was even a treatment.

“Placing the patient on a ventilator helps to slowly bring the pressure in the brain to a safer level.” The doctor explained as he moved around the bed to point towards the IV bags hanging from the poles. “Same with the Sugar mannitol, it reduces the intracranial pressure by pulling fluid from the brain into the bloodstream. This other one is an anti-seizure medication, it’s a precautionary measure since patients who experience strokes may begin seizing,which only causes more damage.”

Sherlock tried to absorb the information like a sponge as he maneuvers himself into one of the hard plastic chairs.

“Your brother’s condition is very serious and the next few days, weeks, and even months will be critical.”

“What is the chance this can kill him?”The question leaves a foul taste in the younger mans mouth, he doesn’t want to think of Mycroft dying because of this, but deep down he knows it’s a very real possibility.

“It usually varies depending on age, those who are younger have a better survival rate than those who are older. Of course there are other factors to consider such as the type of stoke. The mortality rates tend to be higher for those who suffer from bleeding in the brain than say from a blood clot. 31% of patients die within a week of having a stroke, that number increases to 34% three months after the stroke. 59% die within a year.”

Sherlock grimaced as he took in the numbers, and he didn’t particularly like them of course, he would have preferred if the doctor would have said no one dies from having a stroke. But he knew it would have been a lie, but it would have been a nice comfortable one he could have believed. It would have been better than this.

“We will continue to monitor him and his condition constantly down here and up in the ICU when he’s moved. We won’t know anymore until the pressure on his brain has gone down and we can determine the ultimate damage the stoke has done.”

“Thank you.” He’s not certain the doctor hears him and he doesn’t bother to get the man’s name as he leaves. He isn’t quite certain how long he stands at the end of the bed, his hands resting on the railings as he watches the machine breathe for Mycroft.

He hardly remembers sitting down in the hard plastic chair near the bed, wondering if this was the way his brother felt when the tables were turned and he was the one lying on the hospital bed instead of Mycroft. Though his visits were caused by accidental or even intentional overdoses.

Sherlock watched the time tick by slowly as he waited for what would be an appropriate time to call their parents. They would want to know, and if they wanted to come up and see Mycroft, Sherlock would ask Anthea to send a car for them.

All he could now was wait. 


End file.
